


Check your soul at the door (prelude to another day in hell)

by ThreeMagpies



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Smut, comfort - of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeMagpies/pseuds/ThreeMagpies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Revolution fic:  Sebastian (Bass) Monroe/Duncan Page); Mention of characters from the show including Miles and Rachel Matheson and Randall Flynn. The story is based on prompt #55 from the Orgy Armada’s fan fic all Ships challenge… Bass stumbles into New Vegas sometime after the Tower to find Duncan and the refuge of oblivion…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check your soul at the door (prelude to another day in hell)

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note:  
> Hi there and thanks so much for having a look at this… hope you enjoy … ☺  
> I don’t own any part of Revolution and am writing this purely for love of the show and its characters.

His head was still full of lightening…. 

The sound echoed, cracking and splintering, thundering and splitting the air around him no matter how much he drank, how many fights he got into, how many bruises and cuts he gave and took, how many men he knocked to the ground, how many women he fucked, their moans and whispers too soft, too small a sound to be heard over the sizzle and crack of the lightening…

He’d stumbled towards Philly first, after the Tower, after Miles set him free and told him to run…. Stumbling long, long miles to see what had become of his city, to see what Randall Flynn – and Rachel, insane fucking Rachel - had done, to his city… To see what he’d let happen; had made happen - because he was the one who’d taken Randall Flynn into the Tower, had walked him right to the fucking front door and waltzed him in. He might as well have pushed the button…

In Chicago he found refugees, survivors from Philly and Atlanta… Burned, scared, scarred…some of them walking, dying on their feet and when he asked what was left? They all said the same thing….

Ashes, ashes and death…everything blown away, blown away and gone… 

So he walked, and fought from town to camp to town, hiding like a fucking fugitive in his own country. Then walking again, something, he didn’t know what, keeping him breathing, walking, eating, drinking… fucking… fighting… and walking again… And finally, he stumbled into New Vegas, where no one wore their real name, or their real face, where no one cared anyway…

Except for her, Duncan, an old flame from other times, flames burned to cold embers now like everything else, but she remembered him…

She knew him as soon as he staggered into her bar; looking for somewhere new to eat, drink, fight and screw; his bones and soul tired of walking, tired of everything… And she had smiled, her eyes gleaming like she’d just swept the table in a game of poker, or was enjoying a really, really good fuck…. 

‘Hello Sebastian…’ Her voice was deep and rich, amused, her eyes dark and smiling, full of her own power, because, and he was almost, almost envious, she was a warlord now, no longer one of Drexel’s girls… She made the choices now, and she chose him…

The fucking happened later, once he’d slept, eaten, bathed… Because he was the whore now… She tied him to the bed, his hands and feet held with thick, soft ropes to the wooden corner posts, his body pale, taut, spreadeagled wide across her black sheets, his cock thick and hard, searching for her, seeking oblivion, solace, shelter within her body as well as her tent… 

And for oblivion’s sake she dosed him up on whiskey with poppy juice to dull the pain, and something else that galloped through his veins to keep him sailing high and hard before she sank balls deep onto him, riding him high, her tight hot sheath keeping him rocking, keeping him hard while she scoured the tattoo from his arm with a red hot, sharp edged, inexorable blade. Burning and searing away the last shreds of home, burning away the black marks of his name, his past, his family…

Burned from his skin anyway; the memories stayed, because nothing, not even the lightening, could fucking burn them away…

And a part of his soul burned along with the tattoo, the soul smoke rising seeping, singed black along with the curling, greasy wisps of skin rising into the dirty air taking with them the stink of his own flesh, burning… 

As she erased him, the pain became a strange, remote thing that revelled in and was subsumed in the feel of her hot cunt writhing round him, her body lit in flaming drug bright colours, huge and dreamlike over his, their merging shadows dancing on the tent walls as her slim, angular torso rose and fell above him, her dark hair streaming, her breasts high and taut, nipples small, dimpled pebbles that drew his gaze like eyes… 

Her strong, muscular legs held him in a tight, tight, scissor grip and her hot core surrounded him, sliding, wet and molten up and down over his cock, balls deep, soul deep again and again and again until he exploded into her in a burning, iron bright cascade of pleasure/pain…

And afterwards, when he saw his arm naked, a red, raw ruin, his name abandoned, expunged, obliterated, burned to the bone like his city, the pain was still faint…distant, but he knew it would come, knew that he deserved it, deserved to feel nothing else but pain… 

And after that, after the pain came raging…

He didn’t ask her why she saved him; he just fell and kept falling, into her bed, into her, into a hot, wet refuge of dark hair, dark eyes, taut, hard body and tight cunt… 

But she couldn’t stop his dreams, the lightening flashes…

He didn’t know if anyone could…

………………………………….

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I wanted to know how and when Bass could have lost his tattoo, and I thought that this might have been one way it could have happened, that Duncan would help him do it, that maybe she owed him, maybe even loved him in her own way… 
> 
> I've written another story about why she owes him, it’ll be posted soon…cheers, Magpie


End file.
